i want love that doesn't close its eyes

"get the most out of your blog"
says the green stripe in my dashboard.
commodity. use. why do i get upset
with the idea? is all of life actually only
a tit for tat? a scratch my back? metaphored
right here. right here in blogland
an application that must be exploited
to its highest degree. get the most out of it now.
operators are standing by.




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he tries to make it sting less, a form
of comfort. says oh in acouple of years
you'll fall inlove with someone and stay
inlove for the rest of your life. he believes
this. she is old, the rest of her life must
be a very limited quantity. she says i don't think so.
i don't want to go over that cliff again.
and if i don't want to i won't drive near it.
and if i don't drive near it, viola, no fall.
the sea could dry up, the sea could expand
she doesn't want to know anymore. whenever she goes
to the sea she is reduced. maybe to fit more
easily back into its womb, maybe she makes
a card for a parameceum, a birthday card
with a poem designed to get the flagella moving
fast, so one side of the pond can move
to the other. destiny. the idea of soul mates
which she not only wants to believe but laugh at.
because the gods are malicious. the gods are sadists.
the gods are us and we wear the faces of kahn.

inlove. she snorts. when i was inlove i was blind.
my stomach always ached. i needed. i burned.
what is inlove but a way to say be my mommy.
in "infinite jest" the entertainment's known living star
tells us her lines were just this "i'm sorry. i'm so
sorry, i'm very sorry" for ten minutes. the idea is
that all of us want to return to the womb and mommy is the
murderer who takes us there. our mother kills us. a metaphor
too obvious to be anything but a psychological myth.
mother is earth. mother is acceptance.
mother takes you on a ride on kali's belt, devours
the life she gave you. clay pot. ashes to dust to flash
eating bacteria on the warpath of newborn.


listen it's ok. honestly, the wheel? it's ok. it means nothing
grinding on and on and on. just a story to tell
on the eve of mass suicide. the wheel cracking its spokes
because the wheel can chose to keep spinning.
so say the mystics. i think not. god said let there be
light and the whoeel broke. he dosn't want
to cobble it back together again. she's glad
that he's weary now. it means sleep is close escape
and the tomorrow will carry on in better spirits.
she believes. she believes in waves. but he knows
there's always waves within waaves. affeting the affects
they render. ok. sleep now.